


Black and Red

by ella_is_heree



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Books, F/F, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:22:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29319330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ella_is_heree/pseuds/ella_is_heree
Summary: Rhaegar Targaryen has reigned peacefully for almost twenty years. His predecessor, the Mad King Aerys II, was ousted by a Grand Council called by the then Prince of Dragonstone. Almost every Lord in the Seven Kingdoms voted to install Rhaegar Targaryen, claiming Aerys could no longer serve the realm.The King has been haunted by his own ghosts of Summerhal, and his daughter Visenya Targaryen convenes with him often, talking of dreams. Across the Narrow Sea, talks of a spider lord terrify even the most powerful magisters.Cold Winds are rising.Winter is Coming.
Relationships: Ashara Dayne/Ned Stark, Brandon (Son of Brandon)/Rhaenys Targaryen, Brandon Stark/Catelyn Tully Stark, Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen, Robert Baratheon/Lyanna Stark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. PROLOGUE

Evelyn sat in the pillow house, watching the slaves and whores go about their business. Men from all over the world would visit here, to get a taste of a Lyseni. _Can’t say I blame them,_ Evelyn thought to herself, indulging in the revelry herself from time to time. She watched as a man groped a slave, lifting up her skirt. The slave blushed and cried. _Poor thing, must be new. You’ll get broken in soon enough._ Evelyn decided she was going to rent her later.

She got up off the pillow that she lay on, walking over to a table. It was in the center of the main room, a great ebony circle, and it sat at least forty people. Evelyn sat next to a pair of sufficiently drunk men. They wore Westerosi sigils on their breasts, some leopard holding an axe. _Paint spots on a mouse, and it does not become a leopard._ Someone had told her that, once.

She groped that sniffly slave and told her to get some Arbor Red, slapping her ass as she walked away. Evelyn often listened in to sailor’s conversations. Of all the shit they spewed out of their mouth, listen to enough and common themes become clear. She had been offered the position of Spymistress by Leron Rogare, but she had politely refused. He had sought her out after he heard of her talents, and invited her to his manse, hoping to sway her with bounteous whores and slaves to attend to her every need. _No, you merchant prince. I am sworn to another cause._

The slave came back with the wine, and Evelyn gave a sip. It had been watered down, but Evelyn expected no less. Why complain about the wine, when the whores were better than anywhere else? The men to her side started to laugh an uproar, so Evelyn turned to the commotion. A man had pinned a whore to a table, and was fucking her screaming to the encouragement of the whole room. Two guards had to separate the two like rutting animals, and shoved them into a private room that did little to hide the noises. Evelyn took another sip of the wine, savouring what little taste it had.

After the commotion had died down, Evelyn listened in to the Westerosi.

“Aye, ‘tis true. His Grace has dragons for us!” The one with blond hair said, his speech slurred with ale and wine. _Dragons?_

“Fuck no, he hasn’t.” The other replied, rolling his eyes like he had heard this a thousand thousand times before. His voice wasn’t as slurred. “Not real dragons anyways. Gold ones. He promised Golden Dragons. And I plan on collecting that prize.” _You fool, the gold dragons are just as real as the breathing ones. Gold rules this world, you’ll see that soon enough._

“Excuse me, good Sers,” Evelyn interrupted as the blond man opened his mouth, speaking in the common tongue, “do you have a minute to answer a question about the Seven Kingdoms for me?” The blonde and drunk one turned to her.

“Ask away, m’lady.” He said, attempting a bow, instead performing a clumsy head nod. The other gave a nod.

“I couldn’t help but hear something about a reward from King Rhaegar?” Evelyn inquired, raising an eyebrow, leaning forward to expose more of her bust. She watched as they struggled not to stare. _So easily hooked. I almost pity them._ The black-haired one moved his eyes from her breast to her eyes.

“Aye m’lady. As much as my companion here claims otherwise-”

“I’m right, and you know it!” Blond yelled, taking another swig of ale. Black-Haired sighed, gave a silver to a passing whore, and told her to take care of Blond. “Excuse him m’lady, he does not take to ale well.” Evelyn simply giggled. “Regardless, aye, his grace has offered three hundred golden dragons to anyone who could find Blackfyre. The Sword.”

“I know what Blackfyre is, Ser. Thank you for your time.” Evelyn got up, walking out to a balcony that looked out over the city. _Blackfyre? Even Rhaegar must know that it was lost a hundred years ago. Why can’t you just be content with your seven kingdoms_? Evelyn walked back into the building, soon after walking out again into the street as she thought. That Stormlord had died looking for something across the narrow sea, she recalled. _Always so obvious about it, too._

Evelyn came upon the Manse, and the Unsullied outside the doors allowed her in. She found The Spiders’ room and entered. The air inside even smelt like him too, she realized. Or, at least his perfume. T _he man does not even smell natural_ , she thought.

“Lady Evelyn.” The Spider said, looking up from the parchments before him. “I did not expect you.” He set down the pen gently, and gave her a warm smile.

“I did not expect to get such delicious information for you, my lord.” Evelyn sat on one of the cushioned seats. “Rhaegar Targaryen is looking for Blackfyre.” She watched the smallest hint of fear flash across the Spider’s face. _That is not good._ The Spider stood up, his long robes behind him.

“Such a shame too. Those dreams of his Daughter…”

“Lord Varys? I don’t understand?” Evelyn was suddenly very uncomfortable. A man appeared next to the eunuch, one that she had not seen before now. She shifted in her seat.

“Ser, show the clever woman the prize.”

“Lord Varys, I-” The Man took the sword out of the sheath. How did you…? There was no mistaking the sword. The Spider looked almost sad.

“I am sorry, about this, truly. It should’ve happened much later.”

She felt the cold, metallic bite on her throat. Then she felt the pain. Then she felt nothing.


	2. BRANDON I

Bran sat on his father’s throne, watching as the captive was brought forth before him. The man looked scared, more beast than man. He was being escorted by Hornwood men, their moose emblazoned on their mailed chest. Maester Luwin, sat beside him, cleared his throat.

“You have the honor of speaking to Brandon Stark, heir to Winterfell and The North, son of Brandon Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Protector of The North, and Warden of the North. What say you?”  _ Get on with it,  _ Bran thought to himself. He had to hear it at least fifty times today. The men forced the prisoner to kneel, and then they knelt in turn.

“Lord Brandon, we come to you with a traitor. This man, no, animal, was caught crossing the wall, forsaking his vows to the Night’s Watch. We ask that he be punished accordingly.” The men stood up then, still holding the prisoner. Brandon chewed his lip.

“Is the man armed, my lords?” Brandon asked.

“Of course not, my lord. We took his weapons away as soon as we caught the filthy creature.” One man said, the elder of the pair. They seemed a pair of men-at-arms, eager to finally capture someone. Peace was a dull affair for the warrior.

“Then why do you hold him so tightly? Let the man go, unless you are afraid he could disarm you with his hands bound together.” The men flushed at that and obeyed as the hall snickered at them. Brandon turned to the prisoner.

“I would like to hear your story. Tell it true.” The prisoner nodded his head, looking like a scared little fawn. He was bone thin, and looked like he hadn’t eaten in days.

“M’lord Brandon, we was on a ranging past the Wall, and we found a Wildling settlement completely abandoned, like the people had vanished suddenly, the fire was still burnin’, aye, it was. We looked around for these wildlings, but all we could find was blood. We thought it might be Willow, that wildling cheiftess, but no m’lord, no, it was something much worse.” The man’s eyes shone with fear, like he was still on the ranging even now. “We walked a bit further on, and we found the wildlings all dead in a pattern, like a circle with a line through it, aye. Then my commander, Lord Royce, told me to climb up in the trees.” The man’s mouth was wobbling, and the entire court was silent, waiting for the end of the tale. “I hear a scream, and, I see my black brother dead on the ground. It was an Other.”

The whole court went up in a laugh then. Even Maester Luwin chuckled briefly before swallowing it back down. Brandon raised a hand, and they fell silent again.  _ Poor Lad’s gone mad. _ “An Other, was it?” Brandon said, failing to hide the smile on his lips.

“Aye m’lord, it was. Just like from the stories, they moved silent like, killing m’lord Royce like he was made of butter. I swear to the gods.” Brandon sighed and stood up.  _ The man is mad. This will be a mercy. _

“Do you know what the punishment for deserting the Night’s Watch is, ser?”

“I’m not no Ser…” the man’s voice got caught in his throat. “I swear I didn’t mean it, m’lord, I was scared,  _ scared,  _ I’m a craven and a coward, but I’m an honest man, I did see the Others, I did!” Brandon turned to Rodrik Cassel.

“Bring me Ice.”

“M’lord, no, I swear-“ before the madman could finish, he was elbowed by the Hornwood men and thrust up to his feet, and walked out the door. Brandon followed but stopped moving before he could exit the throne room.

“Do you follow the Old Gods, black brother?” Bran asked as Rodrik came back with Ice in hand.

“Aye, m’lord I do.” The man seemed defeated now, resigned to his fate.  _ Poor man. _

“Good Sers,” Bran said the Hornwood men, “Take him to the Weirwood. A man should be with his gods as he dies.” The men obliged, walking him over. Bran sighed, and closed his eyes, getting ready to do the deed.  _ He who orders the death should swing the sword, _ his uncle Ned told him once.  _ Aye, nuncle, I shall do just that. _

Brandon walked to the godswood, where the Hornwood men were waiting for him. Rodrik had set up a block for the man to lay his head on. Brandon walked closer, the rich smell of the place soothing him.  _ I am doing the godly thing. _ The weirwood sat there, its face staring at them all. The maple and birch leaves had started to turn a rich yellow, Brandon saw.  _ Winter is Coming. _

Brandon unsheathed Ice, looking at its smoky ripples as they caught in the sunlight.  _ Valyrian Steel. _ Bran turned to the prisoner. “What is your name, black brother?”

“Yolly, they called me.” He put his head on the block, whispering a prayer.

“Very well. For the crime of forsaking your vows, and abandoning the post that guards the realms of men, I, Brandon Stark, eleventh of my, Son of Brandon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die. Do you have any last words, Yolly?” The man craned his neck to the side to look at Brandon.

“I wasn’t lying. I told it true.”

The deed was done quick, the Valyrian Steel so large and sharp it took one cut. Brandon was breathing heavily, he noticed, and put Ice in its sheath and handed it to Rodrik.

“Have someone put him in the Lichyard.” Rodrik nodded, as Brandon walked away.  _ Others… could… could they be back? After these thousands of years?  _ Brandon walked out of the godswood, entering the main keep, climbing up the main stairs to find his sister’s room. He needed to talk to her.

“Snow? You in there?” He said, knocking on her door. Brandon Stark and Alerie Snow had been close for as long as anyone could remember. They did everything together growing up, laughing and wrestling despite what Catelyn had said. Alerie even looked like their father, her big grey eyes and brown hair. Brandon had inherited his mother’s auburn hair and blue eyes. Alerie opened the door, dressed in a nightgown. When she saw the look on Brandon’s face, she knew something was wrong right away.

“Come in,” Alerie said, stepping out of the way, allowing him in. Brandon sat on her bed, sighing, thinking.

“Bran. What’s wrong?” She said, sitting next to him, a worried look on her face.

“A man in chains was brought to be judged today, Ally. He… he claimed he saw Others, like the stories, and he ran away from them. Away from the watch.”

“Why are you believing those stories, Bran? Every sailor I’ve met claims to have fucked a mermaid or two.” Alerie gave him a playful shove, but Bran did not reciprocate. Bran cracked his knuckles.

“The man called himself a coward, Ally. What kind of man does that? He swore to the gods, and claimed it true up until I killed him.” Bran shook his head. “What kind of man would do that just for a story?” Ally got up and paced, as she always did when she was thinking.

“The man was probably mad, Bran. Do you remember the stories Father told us about the old King? He said that Aerys raped a servant every night, and got pleasure from burning people alive. If a man can be that mad, then surely a man can convince himself he saw an Other?” Ally went behind a paper screen and started to change. Brandon didn’t mind, it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her naked before.

“I suppose so, but… what if I unjustly killed him, Ally? Do I have innocent blood on my hands?” Brandon looked down at his hands then, but they seemed to be clean.

“He abandoned the Night’s Watch, Bran.” She said, putting on some riding wear. “You know as well as I the punishment for that. It does not matter in the slightest what his reasoning was. He was a traitor, and died a traitor’s death.” Alerie Snow came out behind the paper screen, and started to brush her hair. “You must not tell this to anyone else, you know.”

“I know, Ally, I know. I must be strong if I am ever to lead The North.” Brandon got up, and stretched. “Thank you, Snow.” Bran said, pulling her into a hug.

“No problem, Bran.” Ally wiggled out of the hug and put her long dark hair into a ponytail. “Now if you excuse me, I’m off to make some Snows of my own.” She left the room with a wink, and Bran laughed.  _ What would I do without you? _

The rest of the day went about slowly, with Brandon calling court again. Petitioners came and went, but his mind was truly elsewhere. At dusk, he called court off again, and went to the kitchens to eat. He was eating a sausage when his little cousin ran up to him.

“Bran!” She said, running up and hugging the man. Brandon laughed and set down his half-eaten sausage.

“What is now, Maisie?” He said, smiling, holding her in his lap.

“Father says that he wanted to talk to you.” Maisie’s purple eyes laughed.  _ She is a happy soul. _

“Why did he send you, then?” Brandon teased, tickling her.

“Because I wanted to! I don’t  _ ever _ get to talk to you anymore since Uncle Brandon left.” She pouted. “Why did he have to leave anyway? Why can’t everyone just stay here? It’s  _ so _ confusing!” Brandon chuckled.

“He went to be a guest at Uncle Edmure’s wedding, we’ve told you this before.” Brandon set the child down, patting her head. “Well, I best be going to see your father now, shouldn’t I?” Bran knelt down, smiled wickedly. “I heard Sara and Jeyne are in the pools now. Go see what they’re up to.” Brandon gave a wink, and Maisie’s face lit up with excitement. Sara and Jeyne had pulled a prank on Brandon yesterday, dumping a pail of water on his head. He figured that sending a little child to drive them mad would be a suitable enough retribution.

Bran walked through the halls and arrived at his Uncle’s chambers. He knocked.

“Come in.” A voice called out from inside. Bran entered, and Ned was reading over some documents, more than likely comparing harvest bounties.

“Nuncle, Lady Ashara.” Bran said, giving a curt nod. Ned set down the paper and give his nephew a smile. Ashara Dayne lay on the bed, reading as well. His aunt was the most beautiful woman in the world when she met his uncle, it was told.  _ Seems to me she still is.  _ She had danced with all the eligible grooms in the Seven Kingdoms at the tourney, but it came as a surprise to all to discover they had married soon after. A singer had composed a song about the couple, titled  _ The Star and the Wolf. _ Brandon knew it well, because whenever a traveling singer (rare as it was) came to Winterfell, they begged the Honor of playing it for the couple that had inspired it.  _ The Quiet Wolf had fallen in love,  _ it went,  _ and the Star had shone upon him. _

_ They did more than shine on each other,  _ Bran thought. 

“Brandon.” Ned said warmly and gestured to a seat.

“You wanted me, Nuncle?” Bran said, sitting in the cushioned chair, watching as the last remnants of sunlight shone through the windows.

“Aye, I did. I have been going over the harvests from each season, and the yield has been steadily dwindling. I plan on expanding the farmland around the White Knife, all the way down to White Harbor. If I have done my numbers correctly, it should give us more than plenty to eat during the winters.” He said, pointing to a spot on his paper.

“Aye, that sounds nice, but… where would we get the coin to fund such a venture? We could lend some gold from the King, or maybe even from Lord Manderly.” Brandon saw his uncle give a smile rarely seen on the solemn face.

“There’s no need. As Master of Coin for your father, I have a better solution.”

“And what is that, Nuncle?” Brandon said, intrigued.

“A marriage. Your marriage.” He said gently.

“Who is available for me to marry that has such a large dowry? Who-” It was then Brandon realized who his uncle meant.  _ The Pact of Ice and Fire. _


	3. RHAELLA I

Aerys stood at the edge of her bed, staring at her, with those animalistic eyes. His nails were long and sharp like talons, and when he opened his mouth to smile his teeth were filed to points, dripping with blood. _No,_ she thought, _You are dead._

“Am I, lady wife?” he said, climbing up on the bed, shedding his clothing. Rhaella tried to move, but the Kingsguard were holding her down, their precious white glove pinning her to the bed. Rhaella cried out, but the ones in white covered her mouth. Aerys crawled on her, _biting_ her, clawing at her skin, the once white bed sheets now a rich Lannister crimson. _Lannister,_ Rhaella tried to call out, but all she saw was a burnt corpse dressed up in white and gold armor. It stared at her, the holes where its eyes once had been were judging her. _You killed me,_ the Lannister corpse said, as green flame began to grow behind it. _You killed me with your wailing. You did this to me._ Aerys was on her, _in_ her now, and the room was consumed in wildfire. The green light seemed to engulf her, and Rhaella cried out.

Rhaella awoke in a sweat, the sheets all around her tangled and bloody. _No, not bloody. They are red._ A figure stood in the doorway, and for a moment the Dowager Queen thought it was Aerys.

“Mother?” Her daughter said, entering into the room. Rhaegar had given his mother a luxurious room, and the silver moonlight coming in from the windows bathed it in streaks of silver. “I heard you having a nightmare again.”

“Don’t worry about me, Dany, that’s all it was. A nightmare.” Rhaella sat up on the bed, and put a hand to her scarred chest. Her heart was beating like a war galley’s drum. Her daughter came up on the bed next to her, and hugged her.

“It’s alright, Mother. He’s dead. He can’t hurt you.” Daenerys pulled away from a hug, and gave Rhaella a weary smile. Rhaella gave the top of her head a kiss.

“You should be to bed, Dany. It’s hours before the sun rises.” Rhaella knew exactly what time it was, based on moonlight in her room. The moon was full, and was hanging low in the sky. _An hour before light starts to enter the world, and another hour after that ‘til the sun rises._

“I’m always up before, dawn, mother.” Dany said, stepping off of the bed and yawning. Rhaella smiled and shook her head. _You are just like me, child._ Her daughter exited the room, but came back with a torch and some paper. Dany lit the fireplace, and soon the Dowager Queen’s apartments were warm and bathed in gold light, instead of silver. “See? Isn’t that much better?” Rhaella had tried to stop Dany pampering her like this. _‘You are not a servant, child.’_ Rhaella had said, frowning. _‘No, but I am your daughter. As long as you have your nightmares, I_ will _be by your side.’_ Rhaella smiled at the memory. _You sweet, stubborn thing._

“Thank you, Daenerys.” Rhaella wrapped herself in the blankets cherishing the warmth. “Now, you should be off to bed. I think I might try and go back to sleep.” Dany nodded and left. “Goodbye, Mother.”

“Goodbye, Dany.” Rhaella waited until her daughter’s footsteps had gone away before getting out of bed. She stripped out of her nightgown, and looked in her Myrish Glass. Scars covered her old body, scars that Jaime Lannister had tried to prevent. All that got him was a cruel end. She remembered how he held her head, forcing her to stare into those green eyes. She was wailing alongside Jaime, and her crying had gotten her punished that night. _Now I am barren, my teats hang down, and all I have to show are scars and stretch marks. I was beautiful, once. Just like my children._

Rhaegar had come a fortnight after Jaime was burned. Rhaella still remembered how her brother had squealed when he saw the ships on the horizon, bearing the quartered Sun and Dragon. “I told you, whore, I told you! He’s here to take my throne, that traitor! Yes, Traitor! I will burn him like the rest!” When Rhaella heard that, a madness took control of her. She curled her hands into fists, and punched the King as he was running out the bedchamber. “You will NOT burn my son.” Rhaella had said. She still remembered the fear and pleasure and anger she felt then, all rational thoughts long gone. Her husband looked up at her like a scared fawn then, blood dripping down his face where his sister’s fist had greeted it.

Aerys cried and wailed for his Kingsguard then, but Ser Arthur and Ser Gerold did not respond. He wailed and cried and soiled himself, but Rhaella felt no pity for him. Aerys sat on the floor of the bedchamber after it was clear no help would come for him, crying and muttering curses and calling out for his mother. That was how Rhaegar found them, brother and sister, husband and wife. Rhaegar said nothing, but nothing needed to be said. His men found the King, and escorted him to a tower. Mother and Son stood there for a moment, silence hanging in the air. Rhaegar broke first, running up and hugging his mother, looking at the scars his father had given her.

Rhaella had never seen such rage on her boy’s face before. He stood up and exited the chambers, Arthur and Gerold with him. Rhaella was left alone for the greater part of a day, sitting in silence, her own blood dripping from the gashes left on her back and teats, and her brother’s dripping from her fingers.

Rhaella looked away from the Myrish Glass and started to dress herself. After all her wounds had healed, she gathered the courage to not dress to hide them, like she had before Rhaegar came to save her. Rhaella put on a dress that showed some skin, a middle-cut bodice and sleeves that went down to the elbow. Rhaella was three-and-fifty, and her youthful beauty had long left her, but a more mature type of beauty still remained to her. Aerys had called her an ugly cow more times than she could count, and so Rhaella had swore to herself to acknowledge her own beauty. She was a free woman now, and she would not let Aerys control her from beyond the grave. _If that sends me to hell, so be it. It cannot be worse than what I have already experienced._

After Rhaella laced up her gown and brushed her silver hair, she noticed that dawn was beginning to show its face. It was a cloudless early autumn day, and the sky to the east had begun to glow. The Queen exited her chambers, and went down to the Queen’s Ballroom to break her fast. By then, the servants had begun to stir, and the kitchens were noisy. The Queen’s Ballroom was larger than the Hand’s Court, and much better decorated. All across the walls lay Martell and Targaryen banners, proudly glowing the pre-dawn light. A servant gave her bread and bacon, with some mashed apples with cinnamon as a side. Rhaella thanked him, and ate.

Since she was up so early, she was the only one in the Ballroom. By the time Rhaenys had come to break _her_ fast, Rhaella was already full, and was watching the sun rise out of the windows. 

“Good Morning, Grandmother.” Rhaenys said, all dressed up in her Dornish gowns. She was beautiful like her mother, and handsome like her father. Though her features were Dornish like her mother, the white streak through her hair and brown eyes speckled with purple gave her away as a Dragon.

”Good Morning, Rhaenys.” Rhaella gestured to a spot to the side of her, and Rhaenys took it, yawning. “It’s a beautiful day today, isn’t it?” Rhaella said, after Rhaenys had finished telling the servant what she wanted to eat.

“Aye. It is.” Rhaenys smiled, and looked out the window to the rising sun. “I assume you have heard the rumors by now, Grandmother?” Rhaenys asked, yawning. _Rumors? Oh gods…_

“No, I haven’t heard of any rumors, dear. I fear I make a bad Old Woman, as I am not one to gossip.” That got a giggle out of Rhaenys.

”Not all old women gossip, Grandmother.” Rhaenys gave a wink, “No, just most. The rumor is that I am to marry Brandon Stark, heir of Winterfell.” _That_ took Rhaella by surprise. She was expecting some petty drama with Egg or Enya, but this, this was important.

“Brandon Stark?” Rhaella asked.

”Yes, Brandon Stark. Father got a letter last night from Eddard Stark, castellan of Winterfell. He mentioned something about a dowry, and alliance and a pact made a hundred years ago.” Rhaenys said, taking the plate of food from the servant. She started to eat, leaving Rhaella to her thoughts. _Brandon Stark, son of Brandon Stark. Not very creative, are you?_ Maybe it _was_ for the best, the Starks were notorious for their honor, and the Lord of Winterfell was a happy and lively soul. _Rhaenys might not mind it there. Except for the cold._ Her Granddaughter had always been proud of her Dornish heritage, and spent time there with her cousin Arianne as she did in King’s Landing. Winterfell might be too much of a shock from the warm climate of the capital and the burning sands of Dorne, especially with winter approaching.

That talk about a pact intrigued Rhaella too. _The Pact of Ice and Fire_. It was a promise made to the Starks hundreds of years ago that they could marry a Targaryen princess, but it was never fulfilled. _Until now, it seems. Rhaegar and his prophecies and promises._ “Brandon Stark seems a good match. The Tyrells would be better in my opinion, since they are much closer to home and not so cold.” Rhaella nodded as a servant took away her plate. “Or maybe even Steffon Baratheon? He’s recently turned six-and-ten, and is no longer under regency.” Rhaella shrugged and put her hand on Rhaenys’s. “Do you want to marry the Wolf, child?” Rhaenys gave her elder a smile.

“Princesses don’t get to choose who they marry, Grandmother.” Rhaenys put a hand on hers. “But yes, I don’t mind marrying this Wolf Boy. He seems honorable, and though I’ve yet to meet him, I am sure he is handsome. His father is.” Rhaella patted her hand and nodded.

“Aye. Well, if this marriage goes through, I hope he is just and kind to you. Now, if you excuse me, I must take my leave.” Rhaella got up from the table, giving her granddaughter a kiss on the way out of the Ballroom. Stopping by her chambers to relieve herself, she made her way to the gardens. _Gods, I really am an old woman now. I’m a cynic and spend my days in the gardens smelling roses._ Rhaella sat on a bench, and let the morning sun bathe it’s light upon her. She watched as many a lord and lady and servant walked through the gardens, each no doubt on a quest of their own. The only one taking her time and enjoying the garden was Lenya, the Lyseni woman Viserys had taken to wife.

Viserys had grown bored of the capital, so he took off to sail and explore the Free Cities. On his stop at Lys, however, he was riding out during a storm. It is said the wind picked up a branch, and had hit the Targaryen Prince with it so hard he fell off his horse and hit his head. When he awoke, he was comforted and bedded by Lenya, the daughter of some rich magister. Viserys claimed he had seen a vision by the Weeping Lady, and started worshipping the Lyseni Gods alongside his new wife. Lenya’s father was furious and held Viserys for ransom. Soon, the fleet of the Arbor, Oldtown, Driftmark, and King’s Landing surrounded the Island, but the Grand Magister was stubborn, and promised Viserys’s head if anyone landed on the Island.

The Magister was soon assassinated by his fellow magisters, no doubt, and the King and Lord Paxter (and their retinues) had parleyed with the Magisters. They agreed that Viserys and Lenya were to marry and that no ill feelings between Lys and the Seven Kingdoms were to be had. Viserys was still a pious fool, however, getting visions from his Lyseni Gods and preaching about the good word of The Weeping Lady and Yndros.

Rhaella gave a curt nod to Lenya, trying not to scowl. _You made my baby into a fool, you whore,_ Rhaella thought. “Good Day, Lady Lenya.” She said instead.

“Good Day, goodmother.” Lenya bowed and smiled, and walked off to sniff some more roses. Rhaella sighed, and got up, no longer feeling like sitting in the garden. Rhaella walked to her chambers again, picking up a book, and started to read. _The Dance of Dragons,_ it was called.


End file.
